


Mum's the word

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Cat Burglars, Friendship, Gen, Partnership, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-24
Updated: 2017-04-24
Packaged: 2018-10-23 02:58:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10710735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Illya runs into trouble while doing his 'cat burglar' thing.





	Mum's the word

He stood in front of a large window, dressed from head to toe in black, his blond head covered with a dark knit cap.

As he carefully placed a glass cutter against the glass, pressing hard enough to allow him to cut a hole just big enough for him to reach through and undo the lock, there was a loud crash, not at all what Kuryakin expected. The window shattered and fell to the floor, setting off an alarm.

Klaxons blared, before he could could make a retreat, Illya rolled his eyes with a sigh as he felt a gun barrel shoved against his back.

“Let’s go Mister,” an enormous man spoke to him sotto voce.

Kuryakin slowly raised his hands as he was relieved of his gun. He spun without warning, knocking the rifle away and slamming his fist into the man’s face.

It did little good, as the big goon forcefully responded, grabbing the Russian by the throat. Illya couldn’t break free of his grip no matter how hard he slammed his fists against the man's  arms.

Illya gasped, trying to breath but he could feel the life being squeezed out of him as he turned **blue** before he finally passed out.

He woke, his eyes fluttering as his vision cleared. The immediate surroundings were no surprise as he was in some sort of **cage.** Yet instead of the usual dank cellar as the prison cell, the room he was in was a rather castle-like great room.

There was an immense fireplace with a pair of broad swords crossed above the mantle. The walls were covered in rich tapestries, and the furnishing covered in leather and rich brocades.

He reached to his neck as it hurt like hell. No doubt it was badly bruised, and guessed he’d have difficulty speaking when he tried to swallow.

“Why hello there,” a woman appeared from behind the cage. “How are you feeling?” She was blonde, fair skinned and wore a pale blue silk dress like she’d been poured into it

The only sound he could make at first was a scratchy squeak.

“Oh that fool Bruno, he wasn’t supposed to injure you! I do apologize my dear man. Now I have no way of finding out who you are before I kill you.”

Illya shook his head ‘no’ then indicated he wanted a piece of paper and a writing implement.

Amused at his lack of fear, she obliged.

His voice was barely above a whisper.“Please do not kill me beautiful lady? Am sorry I tried to break into ...here." He stopped trying to talk and wrote on the paper she'd handed him.

"I am poor man and did it out of desperation to pay for Uncle’s medical bills. I owe him everything as he raised me. I have no job...please might I work for you? I promise I will be the hardest and most devoted worker you will have ever had. On this I give you my solemn oath. He spoke again," My name is Nicholaí Volkov, but people call me _Volk."_

He flashed her his most soulful blue-eyed look, after which he began coughing violently as speaking with his injured throat had stressed his voice box.

She was impressed by his boldness, and his good looks.

“Well _Wolf_ it intrigues me that you are Russian. You see I am Russian as well, my name is Petrova. Alyona Petrova.”

He nodded to her, and gave her one of his shy smiles.

'How could she resist? He was simply adorable, and those eyes'... Alyona thought to herself. Perhaps she would have fun with him for a little bit. Maybe he might turn out to be useful.

“Very well Volk, I’m going to give you a chance, but if you cross me you are a dead man."

“I understand, but I will not disappoint you,” Illya wrote, handing her the paper again.

Alyona lifted a silver key hung on a velvet cord from around her neck and unlocked the the cage, freeing him.

He stepped out tentatively, but then right into her arms.

Their kiss was long and seductive, but their embrace was interrupted as Napoleon Solo followed by a half dozen agents burst into the room.

Petrova snarled, trying to reach for a gun tucked at her back in the sash of her dress, but Kuryakin grabbed it from her, shoving the woman to the floor.

“Illya you all right? We got your emergency signal.” Napoleon said.

Kuryakin had a subdural implant in his forearm, and pressing it had sent out a signal that he was in trouble, and that he was in need of the cavalry led by Solo.

He placed his hand to his throat indicating he couldn’t speak, as his trying to speak had caused further irritation.

“Oh so mum’s the word,” Napoleon quipped.

“Funny,” Illya mouthed.

Petrova’s men were all subdued and one by one the were brought into the great room, safely bound with their hands behind their backs.  

Illya spotted Bruno, and grabbing the piece of paper, he wrote one more thing and held the note for the man to read it.

“Look down.” It said, and Bruno did so, not sure what it meant.

Illya’s fist smashed into the big man's chin with a forceful right uppercut, sending Bruno spiraling backwards and slamming against the wall. He slowly slipped down to the floor, out cold.

Kuryakin brushed his hands together in satisfaction.

 

 The mansion was searched by the UNCLE team, and documents related to a scheme to rob Fort Knox were located.

Illya pushed himself, barely able to speak at all, and as he looked over the papers he tried commenting.

 _“Plan might have worked. Was … cough, to release nerve gas and kill everyone in Fort Knox, allowing thieves easy access.”_ Illya broke out into another severe coughing fit.

Then it’s a good thing we got here when we did. Saved you and the repository, Napoleon winked. “Now let’s let the clean up crew do their thing and get you to a doctor IK.”

_“Am fine...cough.”_

_“_ In a pig’s eye.” Napoleon rolled down Illya’s turtle neck covering his throat. The black and blue hand prints were obvious, as was the swelling.

Illya finally nodded in agreement… not that he could really argue at the moment.

 


End file.
